COR. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome.

VIRG. The sorrow that delivers us thus chang'd Makes think so.

you

COR.
Like a dull actor now,
I have forgot my part, and I am out,
Even to a full disgrace.-Best of my flesh,
Forgive my tyranny; but do not say,
For that, Forgive our Romans.-O, a kiss
Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!
Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss
I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip
Hath virgin'd it e'er since.--You gods! I prate,*

And the most noble mother of the world
Leave unsaluted: sink, my knee, i' the earth;

[Kneels.

the hungry beach-] The sterile, unprolific beach; or as

Of thy deep duty more impression show
Than that of common sons.

VOL.
O, stand up bless'd:
Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint,
I kneel before thee; and unproperly
Show duty, as mistaken all this while
Between the child and parent.

[Kneels. What is this?

COR. Your knees to me? to your corrected son? Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun; Murd'ring impossibility, to make What cannot be, slight work.

Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw,

And saving those that eye thee!

VOL.

COR. That's my brave boy!

Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son,

I

purpose not to wait on fortune till

Your knee, sirrah.

Are suitors to you.

COR.
I beseech you, peace:
Or, if you'd ask, remember this before,-

The things I have forsworn to grant may never
Be held by you denials. Do not bid me
Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate

Again with Rome's mechanics: tell me not
Wherein I seem unnatural: desire not

To allay my rages and revenges with

Your colder reasons.

O, no more, no more!

VOL. You have said you will not grant us anything; For we have nothing else to ask, but that Which you deny already yet we will ask; That, if you fail in our request," the blame May hang upon your hardness: therefore hear us. COR. Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark; for

we'll

Hear nought from Rome in private.-Your request?

VOL. Should we be silent and not speak, our
raiment

And state of bodies would bewray what life
We have led since thy exíle. Think with thyself,
How more unfortunate than all living women
Are we come hither: since that thy sight, which
should

Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts,

Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and

sorrow;

Making the mother, wife, and child, to see
The son, the husband, and the father, tearing
His country's bowels out. And to poor we
Thine enmity's most capital: thou barrest us
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort
That all but we enjoy; for how can we,
Alas! how can we for our country pray,
Whereto we are bound,-together with thy victory,
Whereto we are bound? Alack! or we must lose
The country, our dear nurse; or else thy person,
Our comfort in the country. We must find
An evident calamity, though we had

Our wish, which side should win; for either thou
Must, as a foreign recreant, be led
With manacles through our streets, or else
Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin,
And bear the palm for having bravely shed

March to assault thy country, than to tread (Trust to't, thou shalt not) on thy mother's womb, That brought thee to this world.

VIRG.

Ay, and mine, That brought you forth this boy, to keep your

son,

The end of war's uncertain; but this certain,
That if thou conquer Rome, the benefit
Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name,
Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses;
Whose chronicle thus writ,-The man was noble,
But with his last attempt he wip'd it out;
Destroy'd his country; and his name remains
To the ensuing age abhorr'd. Speak to me, son:
Thou hast affected the fine* strains of honour,
To imitate the graces of the gods;

To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air,
And yet to charget thy sulphur with a bolt
That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak?
Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man
Still to remember wrongs?-Daughter, speak you;
He cares not for your weeping.-Speak thou, boy;
Perhaps thy childishness will move him more
Than can our reasons.-There's no man in the
world

More bound to 's mother; yet here he lets me

IV. Sc. 7,

When she, (poor hen !) fond of no second brood, Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home, Loaden with honour. Say my request's unjust, And spurn me back: but, if it be not so,

Thou art not honest, and the gods will plague

thee,

That thou restrain'st from me the duty, which
To a mother's part belongs. He turns away:
Down, ladies! let us shame him with our knees.
To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride,
Than pity to our prayers. Down! an end:
This is the last. So, we will home to Rome,
And die among our neighbours.-Nay, behold 's;
This boy that cannot tell what he would have,
But kneels and holds up hands for fellowship,
Does reason our petition with more strength
Than thou hast to deny 't.-Come, let us go:
This fellow had a Volscian to his mother;
His wife is in Corioli, and his child
Like him by chance.-Yet give us our dispatch:
I am hush'd until our city be a-fire,
And then I'll speak a little.

COR. [After holding VOLUMNIA by the hand, silent.] O mother, mother! What have you done?-Behold! the heavens do ope,

The gods look down, and this unnatural scene
They laugh at.-O, my mother, mother! O!
You have won a happy victory to Rome;
But, for your son,-believe it, O, believe it,
Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd,
If not most mortal (1) to him! But, let it come.-
Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars,
I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius,
Were you in my stead, would you have heard
A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius ?
AUF. I was mov'd withal.

COR.
I dare be sworn, you were:
And, sir, it is no little thing to make
Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir,
What peace you'll make, advise me: for my part,
I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you; and pray
you,

Stand to me in this cause.- -O mother! wife! AUF. [Aside.] I am glad, thou hast set thy mercy and thy honour

At difference in thee: out of that I'll work
Myself a former fortune.

SCENE IV.-Rome. A Public Place.

Enter MENENIUS and SICINIUS.

MEN. See you yond' coign o' the Capitol,yond' corner-stone?

SIC. Why, what of that?

MEN. If it be possible for you to displace it with your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. But I say there is no hope in 't ; our throats are sentenced, and stay upon execution. SIC. Is 't possible that so short a time can alter the condition of a man ?

MEN. There is differency between a grub and a butterfly; yet your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown from man to dragon: he has wings; he's more than a creeping thing.

SIC. He loved his mother dearly.

MEN. So did he me: and he no more remembers his mother now than an eight-year-old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes: when he walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before his treading: he is able to pierce a corslet with his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state, as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done, is finished with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but eternity, and a heaven to throne in.

SIC. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. MEN. I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother shall bring from him: there is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger; that shall our poor city find: and all this is 'long of you.

SIC. The gods be good unto us!

MEN. No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us. When we banished him, we respected not them; and, he returning to break our necks, they respect not us.

For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him.
At a few drops of women's rheum, which are
As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour
Of our great action; therefore shall he die,
And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark!

[Drums and trumpets sound, with great
shouts of the People.

1 CON. Your native town you enter'd like a post, And had no welcomes home; but he returns, Splitting the air with noise.

2 CON. And patient fools, Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear With giving him glory.

3 CON. Therefore, at your vantage, Ere he express himself, or move the people With what he would say, let him feel your sword, Which we will second. When he lies along, After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury His reasons with his body."

1 LORD. And grieve to hear't. What faults he made before the last, I think, Might have found easy fines: but there to end, Where he was to begin; and give away The benefit of our levies, answering us With our own charge; making a treaty where There was a yielding,-this admits no excuse. AUF. He approaches; you shall hear him.

Enter CORIOLANUS, with drum and colours; a crowd of Citizens with him.

COR. Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier; (3) No more infected with my country's love Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting

I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name,
Coriolanus, in Corioli ?— ©

You lords and heads o' the state, perfidiously
He has betray'd your business, and given up,
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome
(I say, your city) to his wife and mother;
Breaking his oath and resolution, like
A twist of rotten silk; never admitting
Counsel o' the war; but at his nurse's tears
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory,
That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart
Look'd wondering each at other.

COR.

Hear'st thou, Mars! AUF. Name not the god, thou boy of tears! COR.

AUF. No more.

Ha!

COR. Measureless liar! thou hast made my heart Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave !Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever

I was fore'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords,

Must give this cur the lie and his own notion
(Who wears my stripes impress'd upon him; that
Must bear my beating to his grave) shall join
To thrust the lie unto him.
1 LORD. Peace both and hear me speak.
COR. Cut me to pieces, Volsces! men and lads,
Stain all your edges on me!--Boy! False hound!
If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there,
That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I

Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli :
Alone I did it!—Boy!

let him feele your Sword:

Which we will second, when he lies along
After your way. His Tale pronounc'd shall bury
His Reasons, with his Body."

cin Corioli?-] See note (b), in the preceding page.